The Ever Burning Fire
by Phantomfray
Summary: Little moments have lasting impacts, and Frisk is a child who learns.


GLIMPSE

Sleep holds no sanctuary. Not when the dreams feel so real, so focused. They are running through a field, slashing at the grass for gems and shouting in wordless tones, they are leaping off ledges into circles of blue and orange and blue and orange. They are holding axes and swords in medieval garb, slaying dragons and stealing their souls, they are lurking with a war gun at the ready, firing at barrels and watching the explosion from behind corners. They're never themselves in these realms, yet sometimes they feel as though they're more themselves than this small sweater clad figure that walked through the underground. The one who called themselves Frisk, the one who knew the true name by heart.

Leave this world and move on to the next indeed. There's a burning in their blood, the ever constant will to move, to act, to fight. Always walking forward with that crisp and steady never fast but always fluid pace. They smile, they make friends, they explore behind every locked door, but they know deep down that it wasn't enough. They wonder if it will ever be enough. They wonder if they want it to be.

BREAK

Frisk was running, and then they tripped, and the loud sharp snap triggered some familiar primal instinct in San's mind. He was by their side in a second. The human knelt on the ground with their left arm clenched around their right in a vice like grip, eyes unfocused but glossy with liquid as they stared listlessly at their limb. Their entire frame was tense and curled in on itself, making them look a whole lot smaller than he was used to them being. Frisk didn't move, even when he rested a skeletal hand on their shoulder. And other than a steady tremor they were frozen in place like a mouse in the jaws of a cat. He nearly asked what was wrong, but swallowed the words before they came out, because he knew exactly what the problem was. Toriel arrived a second later, reaching out a pair of green glowing hands to their arm, only to be shocked speechless when Frisk withdrew sharply away from her reach.

The bones weren't aligned right, they said as they looked pointedly at their slightly bent arm and limp hand. If it's left to heal wrong, it will be twisted forever, unless it's broken again and realigned. Their softly spoken words settled around San's ribs like chains.

JUSTICE

There was something haunting about buying an empty gun that was found in a dumpster, and knowing that it's owner is dead. Almost as haunting as finding a faded cowboy hat, dirty and worn with what looked like years of use, and learning that it fit their child sized head like a charm. They wondered if the gun was ever loaded at all. They wondered where the bullets went. How long ago did those shots ring out? Was it worth it? Months later on the surface, and they still lacked the courage to ask.

TOMB

The first time they walked down that last branching path to the room with the coffins, they were disturbed. All lined up in a row, and all the same size. The one closest to the door had a red soul heart and their name carved into the top. Not a very good sign for them, to enter into a conversation knowing how finalized the other side envisioned the result to be. To realize the king had killed them in his mind before they had ever seen their face, and marked their grave with the prize he received by the human's death. The memory of a golden flower patch, planted in the one space underground that gets the faintest shadow of sunlight sprang into their mind. This room felt more like a closet than a graveyard. A strange, sterile, out of the way closet to store the corpses where they would stay out of sight and not smell.

In a way, learning the truth worse. Asriel's dust lays to rest on the flowers, and Chara's is the first coffin in a line of children who fell, and never climbed back up again. As morbid as it was to realise they fell onto a grave, Frisk was glad that there was a grave to fall on in the first place.

LIGHT

"You live like this?" Undyne had asked, as she stared into the wind, and her smile was wide enough to swallow the sun that was creeping over the horizon. Undyne was ready for the light; she was ready for the fresh morning wind that smelled of wildness and life. She was ready for the ground that was overflowing with plants and bugs that fought for every inch to thrive and grow. Forests of green determination, steady and pulsing. She was ready for the waters, a living soup of plants and snails and flashing fish and sediments that teemed with micro bacteria and nutrients. This was the life she fought for, the life she was willing to die for her people to receive.

Frisk wished that they were as ready as Undyne. The surface was wealth and abundance, a blazing sun compared to the soft glow crystals underground. It was full and varied and endless. It was, after endless cycles of walking under the earth, a bit too much. Funny how the monsters regarded them as a native to this land, how they expected them to jump right back into it like a fish to water. Not all the monsters adjusted to the surface as readily as the rest. Many spent their time indoors, in mini towns carved into the base of the mountains around them, accessible to the sun, but shielded from the boldest of it's rays. As the days passed, they could feel the confusion in the eyes of their friends when they say them among that number. After all, they're a human from the surface, how can they be at home in the dark like them?

THEATER

The symbol of theater is two masks: comedy smiles wide and mirthful, tragedy silently howls in anguish. They had two masks as well. A toothless smiling face which matched the persona that was nothing but teeth, and a neutral face, with eyes all but closed that belonged to a person who felt and saw nearly everything. They weren't completely sure which one was tragedy and which one was comedy. Chara, or whatever their name was at the time, saw the world as meaningless entertainment, and ended up with all the power they desired to bring about the end they reached for. Frisk suffered and died over and over and over. All in their attempts to bring about a better world for the people who were hurting them in the first place. Perhaps the real joke is that in the end, everything that was so important in the past is irrelevant now. That despite suffering and tragedy, life goes on. The thought made them smile and laugh, and really, wasn't that the point of a joke in the first place?

* * *

Phantomfray here,this one is a little bit head canon heavy, I love how much room the game leaves for interpretation. As always I do not own Undertale or any of the various other video games vaguely referenced in the beginning. shout out to Madfox32 for editing this fic, and shout out to all of you who took the time to read it :)

-Fray


End file.
